


Catch Me If You Can

by Haicrescendo



Series: Carry On For You [7]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: 17+ years of con-going experience have prepared me for this moment, Alternate Universe, Canon has been taken out back and shot, Gen, Misunderstandings, also a coffee drinker, gym leaders are people too, hand waving canon because fuck it, it makes uncle want to cry, oops its definitely pokémon abuse, so much secondhand embarrassment to be found here, the serious case of the unreliable narrator, toph and zuko throw down and it’s awesome, zuko is a disgusting morning person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22836670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [“Dude, it’s like seven am.”“Uh huh.”Zuko looks like he doesn’t quite understand why Sokka has a problem with this. He’s way too awake, and Sokka is not awake enough.Sokka scrubs at his eyes.“You know it doesn’t open til eleven?”“Yeah, to the public. Sorry for thinking you’d want to skip out on the line that’s gonna snake through the whole city. Have fun with that—“ Zuko scowls and turns around to leave, and unthinkingly, Sokka nabs the back of his hoodie and tugs.“No, please do not do that.”]Or,In which everyone’s a little nerdier than anticipated, Sokka is a public embarrassment, and Zuko gets honest.
Relationships: Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Carry On For You [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013
Comments: 172
Kudos: 2387





	Catch Me If You Can

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest part to date! If you like it, please drop me a line to let me know about it, or scream with me about fictional characters on tumblr @sword-and-stars!

* * *

  
From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_ [Hey, are you going to League Weekend this year?] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid

_ [bro tickets for that have been sold out for months. where the hell have u been???] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [Do you want tickets?] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [dude are u offering?] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [Gym leaders all get guest passes. I don’t know anybody else who isn’t already going who would want them. They're all access so they’ll get you into any panels or workshops you want _ .]

Sokka is many things but an idiot is not one of them.

His fingers type  _ omg yeeeeeees _ but his body jumps up and down in circles, because he’s only ever gone once, with Mom, and in retrospect he was too little to really appreciate it. He’s old enough to appreciate it now.

As an afterthought, because he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, he types out a stream of appropriate emojis.

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [:)] _

* * *

League Weekend is  _ insane _ .

It’s always insane but this is the first time that Sokka is set up to go mostly by himself, and it’s way worse than someone else planning and then just going along with it. 

He figures that Zuko will just email him the pass, which he does. He also sends him event pamphlets, a list of required documentation in order to prove his identity at security, and a very long list of panels and workshops, ranked and circled in order of, in Zuko’s own words, absolute worthless garbage to do not miss under any circumstances.

What Sokka distinctly does not miss is that Zuko has completely ignored the existence of his own workshops and panels, because he’s antisocial and kind of likes being ignored. That’s unacceptable, he decides.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [any reason you don’t want me going to the ones ur running?] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [No. I just figured you’d rather go see people who would excite you. I’m not that interesting.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [if you think im getting free passes off of you and not going to ur workshops, ur crazy.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [You really don’t have to do that.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [i rly do. pokémon massage? ur a man full of surprises. wouldnt miss it.] _

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [I will stop protesting if you could spell out the word ‘your’ just once. Just once. Please.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [nah.] _

Zuko sends him the middle finger emoji and nothing else, and Sokka laughs into the notebook he’s using for his weekend schedule. There are not enough hours in the span of three days to fit in everything he’d like to see, but he makes it work, somehow.

Between the Q+A panels, the workshops, and the fun matches, it’s a very full schedule, but he’s made himself leave some open space for trawling the vendor’s area. It’s in Gaoling this year and Sokka’s already made plans to split the cost of a hotel with Katara. Pakku’s giving a lecture and she’s going because she can, because one of the few perks of being somebody’s favorite means that occasionally, you actually get thrown a perk or two.

Does that mean that Sokka is  _ Zuko’s _ favorite?

He thinks about it for a moment and then goes,  _ nah _ . He’s not, he’s just the closest thing the guy’s got to a friend who’s not family or another gym leader.

Which, speaking of gym leaders, there’s a Q+A panel on Sunday that involves all eight of them that he definitely will not be missing.

Sokka groans, realizing that he hasn’t made room in his schedule for it, and faceplants into the open page of his notebook.

* * *

  
  


Gaoling is a big city, and it feels even bigger on League Weekend. It’s packed with people and Sokka makes sure to get there late on Thursday night because he’s crazy, not stupid, but in the end he doesn’t actually need to.

“Dude, it’s like seven am.”

“Uh huh.”

Zuko looks like he doesn’t quite understand why Sokka has a problem with this. He’s way too awake and Sokka is not awake enough.

Sokka scrubs at his eyes.

“You know it doesn’t open til eleven?”

“Yeah, to the public. Sorry for thinking you’d want to skip out on the line that’s gonna snake through the whole city. Have fun with that—“ Zuko scowls and turns around to  _ leave _ , and unthinkingly, Sokka nabs the back of his hoodie and tugs.

“No, please do not do that,” he says, not a little bit pleading. “Sorry. I’m not running on all cylinders here. I got in late.” 

Sokka is lucky that Katara didn’t try and strangle him for making her let him into their hotel room at one o’clock this morning. Her face had promised death, but it’s fine, because she doesn’t have to be there until the afternoon, and Pakku is in charge of checking them in. He sighs a little and rifles through his own hair, tries to wake himself up a little more.

Zuko’s stern, slightly annoyed expression softens.

“Come in,” Sokka steps aside and beckons Zuko in, “I’m not ready yet—“ Or at all, “But I won’t take long. Just gotta get dressed and grab a few things. Heads up, if you wake up my sister, she might murder you.”

It takes way longer than a few minutes, because he’s  _ greasy _ and desperately needs a shower—a  _ good  _ shower, and was not prepared for this. When Sokka emerges from the bathroom clean and dressed and feeling way more like a functional human being, Zuko’s parked on his bed, a little cardboard drink carrier in his hands.

When did he leave, and how did he manage to get back inside?

“I took your key card off the nightstand,” he explains without actually explaining anything, as if that’s a thing that normal people do. Sokka wants to be annoyed by it but can’t quite manage. “Dunno how you take your coffee, so I got it like mine. If you hate it, sorry.”

Sokka doesn’t give a single, solitary crap, because  _ free caffeine  _ and he can smell it from here, and it smells amazing.

He makes grabby hands and takes the offering, breathing in the potent scent of dark roast and vanilla. The first sip burns, as it should, and needs some more sweetening, but it’s good anyway.

“Thank you,” Sokka says, and feels infinitely more charitable despite the early hour. “Sorry for being snippy at you earlier.”

Zuko shrugs and waves it off.

“It’s cool. I probably should have texted or something, that I was coming. You’re lucky, though, because the line is already crazy, and even if you got in it now, you’d have a long wait ahead of you.”

Sokka swallows hard and is suddenly even more grateful for those passes. Not just because it was free, but because that line is legendary and excruciating and he really doesn’t want to stand in it.

They slip out of the room without waking Katara, and Sokka can't help but watch Zuko out of the corner of his eye.

The other boy looks well-rested, and there’s an easy swing in his step. Sokka shouldn’t have been surprised—it’s been a month since their rematch and consequently since he’s seen him, but he’s glad to see him looking better than the last time. He’d never seen someone just shut down like that, and he doesn’t want to see it happen again.

Sokka’s hotel is close to the Gaoling gym, and Zuko was right—the line is already beginning to wrap around at this early hour. It’s a twinge to the ego to know that the other boy had been right. But he’s got coffee that he didn’t have to pay for and that’s what’s important.

“You’re hungry, right?” Zuko asks out of nowhere, and Sokka realizes that he’s been watching him eye the line. “We’ll breeze you through security and then see about finding food.”

“Man, I’m always hungry.”

Security is not a breeze. Security is suspicious and slow and doesn’t seem to believe that Sokka could possibly be Zuko’s guest despite the fact that he’s standing  _ right there _ and glaring. Eventually they accept his identification and Zuko’s insistence that  _ yes _ , Sokka is his  _ guest _ and they could stand to be a little more respectful. Big words, Sokka thinks, coming from someone who apparently makes a habit out of terrifying journalists and beats up petty criminals in the harbor.

He continues to stand there nonetheless, like some tall and extremely annoyed sort of bodyguard while Sokka allows his bag to be searched and his body to be patted down before they finally, finally hand him his all-access badge on a lanyard. It’s custom and has his photo on it.

“Lose it and die,” Zuko tells him without looking at him, typing rapidly into his phone. 

“Dude, this is a fucking  _ selfie _ I sent you.”

“Duh,” Zuko continues to type, “They needed a photo. I gave them one.”

“ _ I’m using the pikachu snapchat filter in this, you asshole _ .”

Zuko shrugs.

“It’s fine. Nobody will even look at it.”

Sokka doubts that. Every single person he knows will go out of their way to look at that photo and then proceed to never let him forget about it again. He opens his mouth to complain a little more but Zuko interrupts before he can.

“If you’re done bitching, we’ve got breakfast plans.”

Sokka is done bitching.

* * *

Sokka figures that breakfast plans are grabbing bagels or something.

Sokka is  _ wrong _ .

Breakfast turns out to be in the restaurant of a way swankier hotel than Sokka can afford, and they’re not going to be eating alone. Toph is sitting at a large table set for five that’s already laden with food, along with a beautiful girl with white hair and a tall, dark-haired man wearing tiny spectacles.

“Took you long enough, Sootstains,” Toph informs them once they’re close, “Sup, Snoozles.”

“Don’t call me that, it’s rude as hell,” Zuko grumbles, throwing himself into a chair. “It’s not my fault security takes forever.”

“You just don’t know how to properly motivate ‘em.”

“Next time I’ll bring you with me, then.”

“Hard pass. I like sleep.”

Zuko makes a face at her and turns to the other two at the table. Sokka recognizes them, of course he does. You don’t just not remember the gym leaders you’ve beaten on your way.

“Oh, right. Sokka, you already know Toph of the Gaoling gym. Oh, I guess you’d have met Yue and Kuei already, too. Yue of the Northern City gym and Kuei, from the gym in Ba Sing Se. You’ve both met Sokka before.”

“Of course,” Yue says with a polite smile, “You don’t just forget someone who manages to win your badge off of you. How have you been?”

“I’m good,” Sokka replies. “Still trying to get a badge from this guy.” Yue is  _ so _ pretty, and he’d had an embarrassing, horrible crush on her when he’d been trying to win her badge. He’d always hoped that he’d been unmemorable enough that he could let those memories die.

They will apparently never die.

Yue doesn’t mention his horrible, awful crush at all ( _ thank god _ ) but instead turns to Zuko, a question already written on her face, both brows raising up towards her hairline.

She apparently doesn’t even need to say anything to him, because his face closes off abruptly and he gives a funny little shrug in response.

“If it makes you feel better,” Toph interjects with a grin, “You can watch me kick his ass this afternoon.”

“It’s an exhibition match, Toph!” Kuei tells her, scandalized.

She scoffs at him.

“You say that like he’s not gonna be trying to kick  _ my  _ ass. You are, aren’t you, Sparky?”

Zuko shifts his gaze from Yue, to Sokka, and then to Toph, and a sharp grin tilts his lips up. It’s dangerous and sharky and shows his teeth, and it makes him look borderline feral. Sokka finds that he can’t look away from it.

“The people want a show,” Zuko tells her, “What kind of gym leaders would we be if we didn’t give them one?”

Toph punches him in the shoulder and whoops.

“I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, Hotpants.”

“Good fucking luck with that, Shortcake.”

“ _ Now _ , now, children,” Yue interjects, “Can we not do this today? Anyway, it’s been a delight, as always, but I’ve got to go prepare for my own match.” The older girl gets up and gathers her bag, slings it over her shoulder. “Kuei’s paying.”

“I’m  _ what?” _

Yue stops between Zuko and Toph’s chairs, ruffling Toph’s hair and then leaning down to kiss Zuko on the cheek.

“Good luck today, both of you.”

And then she’s out the door, leaving Sokka in a state of cold shock. Is she like...actually his girlfriend? Like a  _ girlfriend _ , girlfriend? All of a sudden his breakfast isn’t sitting super great in his stomach, and he makes a face.

“Are you okay?” Zuko asks and leans in, “You don’t look good.”

“I—I’m fine. Just ate too much.”

Zuko levels him with a considering, speculative golden stare, and Sokka waves his hands at him.

“Totally fine! Good to go. Super awesome.”

“If you’re sure?”

“ _ So  _ sure.”

Sokka doesn’t like the grin that Toph gives him at all. Not one little bit. Does she know about his horrifying crush on Yue? On Zuko’s  _ girlfriend _ ? Oh god, did they  _ talk  _ about it?

Sokka’s stomach twists and he stops thinking about just one more bite of waffle. He’s definitely done.

Kuei does end up paying, which is good because Sokka definitely can’t afford breakfast at a fancy place like this. 

“Alright, I’ve got to get back too,” Zuko says when they get outside, “When the doors open, just show a staff member your pass and they’ll bounce you past the line.”

And then Zuko’s gone too, leaving Sokka standing outside the hotel with just under an hour left before the doors open and a funny little pit in his guts that could have been from overeating or it could have been from something else.

* * *

If anything, League Weekend has gotten even bigger than it was in Sokka’s tiny child-memories.

It’s absolutely packed with people and in literally any other situation Sokka’s skin would be crawling in claustrophobic sympathy and he’d be looking for any way of escape—however, here and now, it’s fine. There’s so much to look at that he can’t manage discomfort, and he’s  _ so glad _ he’s only carrying cash on him right now, because it seems like every single booth has something that could bankrupt him.

There’s booths selling special potions and rare berries, booths selling TMs and move manuals, booths selling clothing for pokémon and people alike. Sokka stares at a selection of hoodies in the design of gym uniforms, and snaps a photo.

He’s never even seen Zuko in Vulca’s uniform, despite battling him twice.

There are even booths selling pokémon.

Sokka’s not too fond of that particular practice; it’s generally considered pretty tacky for a trainer to buy rather than catch their own pokémon, but plenty of people do it, especially if they keep them just for pets, so it’s not like it’s a surprise. Not for him, but as long as nobody’s being mistreated, to each their own.

Sokka definitely does not buy any pokémon, but he does buy some special treats and a cute collar that has a bow tie on it. Vaporeon will definitely hate it, but it’ll be adorable while it lasts.

It’s easy to spend the first couple of hours in the vendor’s area and the next popping into a panel or two and finding some overpriced lunch that won’t break his budget but also won’t taste like sad garbage.

It’s easier still to flash his access badge to the security guard checking in spectators for the exhibition matches and be directed to a section in one of the lower levels, giving him a nearly perfect viewing point.

Sokka reminds himself to thank Zuko again for this pass. Already it’s made his life easier.

Sokka has more experience being a match participant than he does with being a spectator, and  _ wow _ is it a different vibe. Maybe it’s because Gaoling’s stadium is massive or maybe it’s because both combatants are such well known, powerful trainers who are notorious for being strong and volatile.

Or maybe it’s because  _ Sokka _ knows both of them and knows, no matter what, that they’re both determined to put on a show.

He’s sure that it’s going to be a hell of a good show.

“And now, it’s the match you’ve all been waiting for!” The announcer booms, so loud that the stands rock. “On one side, we have our hometown hero, Gaoling’s very own, unshakeable mountain, Gym Leader Toph!”

Door slide open on one end of the stadium and Toph walks out, flanked by her Rockruff. He’s seen Gaoling’s uniform before because Toph actually tends to wear it for her matches—a green and pale yellow number that involves flowy culottes and a belted tunic, and no shoes to speak of. She’s grinning like a crazy person and there’s a bounce in her step and Sokka, with all of his personal experience in being handed his own ass by Zuko, suddenly has no idea who’s going to win this.

“And on the other, we’ve got the volcanic, fiery heart of the Vulca Islands himself, Gym Leader Zuko!”

So  _ that’s  _ what Vulca’s uniform looks like.

Zuko walks out and Sokka’s next breath catches in his throat, because  _ holy shit _ .

Gone is the slouchy, comfy hoodie from this morning, replaced with short-sleeved red robes with golden accents, belted around his waist. Scarlet pants disappear into knee-length, black and gold boots, and his long, dark hair is braided up the sides of his head and twisted into a messy bun. There’s a flash from his shoulders and Sokka realizes that the other boy is carrying a pair of swords on his back—actual swords with actual blades and all.

He wouldn’t even be surprised at this point if Zuko knew how to actually use them.

The two gym leaders walk to the center of the battlefield and shake hands. 

“Ready for me to wipe the floor with you, Sparky?” 

Toph’s voice is clear and loud and Sokka jumps a little to hear it; he didn’t realize that they’d be wearing microphones. Stupidly, perhaps, because with all the cheering how else were their own pokémon even supposed to be able to hear them?

“If I beat you, then you have to wear shoes for your next three badge matches,” Zuko shoots back with a toothy smile, “ _ Real _ shoes. With laces and everything.”

Toph makes a face at him.

“Good thing you ain’t beating me, then.”

Toph’s not wrong—Zuko doesn’t beat her. She doesn’t manage to beat him either, though, because in the end it’s the clock that ends their match in a draw.

Sokka was right—it’s a hell of a show.

It’s a 2-v-2 match, and Toph’s Rockruff and Golem are in amazing form, matching every attack from Zuko’s Vulpix and Charizard, neither side giving any ground at all. Sokka’s never really understood the phrase about an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, but he does now.

It’s so perfectly done that Sokka almost thinks, for a moment, that it has to be choreographed, but that can’t be possible, not when Rockruff kicks up half the battlefield into sand and Charizard melts it down, leaving ribbons of glass snaking their way throughout the ground that sparkle and shine in the afternoon sun.

Seeing Toph and Zuko square off against each other highlights perfectly the differences in their battle styles. They’re like perfect foils of one another, Toph’s deceptive, steady patience and determination to endure a stark contrast to Zuko, all dangerous power and speed and creativity, and watching them fight is like watching a meteor hit a planet.

For all of her bluster and shot-taking, Toph is calm in battle and Zuko is very decidedly  _ not _ , loud and dynamic as if this is as much a fight for him as it is for his pokémon.

It’s almost like the two gym leaders are working together to be as unspeakably showy and destructive as possible while also talking ridiculous amounts of trash, and the match ends with tiny Vulpix spitting flame from atop a stone raft floating, somehow, upon a pillar of magma that drips thick, gooey dollops of liquid rock that fizzle and harden in lumps on the ground.

Sokka’s never fought Zuko’s Charizard and after this, he doesn’t think he ever wants to. It’s huge and terrifying in a way that’s almost beautiful, doing loop-de-loops in the air and casting shadows through the stands, throwing fireballs like fireflies. 

It may just be for show but it’s a damn good show.

Both Zuko and Toph look startled and unprepared for when the buzzer rings and signals the end of the match, and for just a moment it looks like one or both of them have half a mind to ignore it and keep going. Nevertheless, they approach one another in the center, again, this time avoiding the ripped up terrain and still-molten glass and rock, and shake hands once more. Rockruff bounds eagerly at her side and warns her of obstacles with nudges and quick little barks—Zuko’s little Vulpix hops into his arms like she belongs there.

“Looks like I get to stay barefoot,” Toph tells him pointedly, startling laughter out of the still spellbound stadium.

“For now.”

“Forever.”

“ _ For now _ ,” Zuko repeats, and in that moment he’s so bright and shiny, brighter even than the glass that streaks through the ground at his feet, and Sokka can’t drag his eyes away.

* * *

Sokka flops onto the bed in his hotel room, pressing his face hard into a pillow.

“Katara, I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“ _ I’m dying _ .”

The mattress dips and Katara sits down on the edge. Sokka doesn’t have to pull his face out of his pillow to know that she’s smirking at him.

“Did widdle Sokka go too hard on the first day of League Weekend?”

Widdle Sokka definitely went too hard on his first day of League Weekend. Now that he’s able to rest he’s fully able to appreciate how exhausted he is. His feet hurt and his shoulders hurt and his brain hurts, and he’s so excited to be able to get up in the morning and do it again.

He’d gone to two more panels after Zuko and Toph’s exhibition match, then to Pakku’s talk on bioluminescence in water types, then a workshop on spontaneous move creation, and by the end of the evening all he wants to do is crawl into his bed.

Next to his head, his phone lights up, and Sokka forces his eyes open to look at it.

Zuko’s sent him a photo of the bed in his hotel room, and it’s literally covered in pokémon with no room for a human being to speak of. Vulpix has commandeered his pillow like the little princess she is and Charizard has claimed the entire mattress with his limbs still managing to hang off the edge, with Pikachu and Stufful and...okay, Sokka was not aware that Zuko had an Umbreon, all finding places on or around the dragon to cuddle up.

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [This is what my life has become. There is no respect here.] _

Sokka snorts as he reads the caption, just in time to receive another photo.

This time it’s clearly been taken by somebody else, and Sokka is definitely not thinking about the possibility that Yue’s in his hotel room at night, absolutely not.

It’s basically the same photo as before except that this time, Sokka can see Zuko’s exasperated face scowling up from underneath Charizard’s wing. The dragon looks all too pleased to smother its trainer with love, and Sokka snickers despite himself and the persistent twist in his stomach.

That crush on Yue is more inconvenient than Sokka had thought.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t even occur to him not to text him back.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [That’s one way to get a weighted blanket I guess.] _

Sokka falls asleep before he even gets a reply.

* * *

There’s no 7am wake up call the next day but Sokka doesn’t need it.

He’s up and awake fairly early because the first thing on his schedule is a workshop that Zuko is teaching on pokémon massage and accupressure, a topic that he’s never thought about but an interesting one nonetheless. 

He doesn’t stop for breakfast this time but grabs a bagel and two coffees instead, which he somehow manages to smuggle into the Gaoling convention center. Security glares at him anyway.

He’s not the first one there, despite being firmly early. There’s three other participants already and Sokka claims a table towards the front. 

Zuko’s already there too, and Sokka ignores the stares he gets when he chucks his bag onto the table and makes his way right up to him, coffee in hand.

“I’m exhausted and uncaffeinated and I’m dying,” he announces without preamble when he catches sight of Sokka, and reels back when Sokka shoves the cup underneath his nose.

“Here,” he says, “Be grateful.”

Zuko blinks rapidly at the cup in his face and then he takes it, closing his eyes to breathe in deeply.

“Good morning to you too,” he replies, taking a sip and relishing it. “It’s good, thank you.”

“Good, because bringing it to you got me back on security’s shit list.”

Eyes still closed, Zuko shrugs.

“If they’ve got a problem with it, I’ll kick their collective ass. I’ll kick anyone’s ass.”

“Trust me,” Sokka tells him, “We know. We all know.”

Sokka has seen a lot of smirks from Zuko. He gets a lot of teasing and a lot of pointed, smart remarks, and a lot of name calling. He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten the look he’s getting from him right now, soft and affectionate and almost charmed. It’s not a big smile on his face but it’s very sweet, and it comes with a funny little crinkle of Zuko’s nose.

“Really,” the other boy says, very quietly, “Thank you. Now go back to your table before somebody else grabs it, loser.” He takes another noisy swig of his coffee.

The room’s filled up by now and Sokka’s shocked to find that every single table has been claimed, and there are plenty of people standing at the edges of the room, holding notebooks. 

“Alright, listen up!” Zuko announces loudly, and all conversation stops. “First things first, before we get started: I will not tolerate screwing around in here. It’s very possible to cause injury or damage to your pokémon if you’re rough or don’t listen to them while you’re practicing. Anyone who thinks they’d rather horse around about it instead will be asked to leave. There are significant benefits to these techniques but they’re easy to mess up if you don’t listen, and I won’t have that here, am I understood?”

Zuko is kind of an awkward guy, in general. He isn’t super comfortable talking to people and he has trouble behaving like a normal human being in public or in private, but right now, talking about something he clearly knows plenty about, he’s calm and steady. Sokka considers making a funny face at him, watches the spellbound ladies on either side of him, and thinks better of it.

Zuko releases a Flareon onto his own table, and it immediately flops down onto its back in a demand for belly rubs. Laughter trickles through the room and lightens the mood that Zuko had dragged down in his seriousness, and his own pokémon being a clown reminds Sokka that, coolly professional or not, that this is still just  _ Zuko _ , who’s a soft, squishy weirdo who could never in a thousand years deny his pokémon anything.

Sokka lets Vaporeon up onto his table. He’s been with him the longest and should consequently, in theory, be the most forgiving if Sokka messes up. Vaporeon takes a moment to look around the room at all the strange people and pokémon that fill the room, yawns widely, and then lies down, curling his paws underneath him so that he looks like a large blue loaf of bread.

Sokka rubs his head, because he’s never not going to feel warm and content when he looks at his pokémon, and pays attention when Zuko starts talking again.

“First thing you’re going to do for a couple of minutes is just pet your partner pokémon for a bit, make sure they’re relaxed and happy to be here. Get familiar with how they feel and where they like to be touched, try and feel for any knots of tension or sore spots. Don’t try and work them out if you find any, just make a note of where they’re at. Just like people, pokémon can carry their stress in their bodies and it can lead to problems in battle and in day to day life.”

Zuko’s Flareon looks like it’s never had a day of stress in its life, especially with Zuko’s hands buried in warm, orange-yellow fluff. It chirps at him and bats cheerfully at his face with a paw, causing Sokka to snicker and the woman with the Minun next to him to...coo?

What the hell?

“For example, Flareon has a fairly easy going personality but has a lot of anxiety when interacting with larger, specifically dragon-type pokémon. He tends to carry that anxiety in his neck and shoulders, and regular massage helps keep him loose and calm and happy, and react better when he’s put in a stressful situation. I can’t always predict when he’s going to encounter a trigger, but I can help him feel as safe as possible when he does.”

Zuko walks around the room, table to table, greeting pokémon with a soft voice and quiet hands, introducing himself. Sokka watches him until suddenly golden eyes focus on him, and he goes back to running the edge of Vaporeon’s scaled ruff between his palms, just the way he likes and can’t ever seem to scratch for himself.

“Now what you’ll do,” Zuko continues, and this time when Flareon tries to touch his face with his paw he catches it in his hand, “If your pokémon enjoys it, take one of their legs or paws and squeeze the muscles there, kind of like kneading bread. Work your way up the leg, gently, and make sure that your partner is still relaxed and happy. This isn’t something to rush; this is a bonding experience and something you want to take your time with.” 

This time when he makes his rounds to see how everybody’s doing, he stops by Sokka’s table first. He eyes Sokka’s leg-squeezing technique with a critical stare, finds it acceptable, and then reaches out to cradle Vaporeon’s cheeks between his palms, leaning in to greet him with a headbutt. Vaporeon trills right back at him, probably remembering all the jerky Zuko’s fed him, as happily as he’d greet Sokka himself, or Katara.

Sokka’s heart squeezes hard in his chest, so sharp that for a moment it’s like he can’t even breathe.

“Good to see you again, buddy,” Zuko says softly, “Bite him if you don’t like it.”

The squishy, sentimental feeling immediately gets replaced by what can only be some sort of weirdly affectionate irritation.

“Dude, don’t tell him that. Vaporeon’s an asshole, he’ll do it!”

“He’s not an asshole!” Zuko croons, sugary sweet, literally just to be that annoying. “Precious angel would  _ never _ .” Sokka wants to shove him, but thinks he might get jumped and beaten if he does. He settles for glaring instead.

“Precious angel  _ would.  _ If I get bit, I’m sending you the bill.”

“If you get bit, you’d best take it up with your pokémon.”

And then Zuko swans off,  _ like an asshole _ .

Sokka continues to knead Vaporeon’s muscles until his pokémon is a boneless, vaguely canine puddle on the table.

“I’m going to kill him,” he says pleasantly. Vaporeon chirps at him, mellow and practically liquid with pleasure. “No, really, I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not,” Zuko pipes up out of nowhere from across the room.

No, Sokka’s not, but it’s going to be a close thing.

* * *

The room’s empty, and Sokka’s the last to leave. 

It seems like it takes forever, because people keep approaching Zuko to ask him question upon question, and maybe hit on him a little, and the longer it goes, the more visibly uncomfortable Zuko gets. Sokka waits it out and eventually he’s the last one left, and he waits for Zuko to drop himself into the unused chair by his table before he approaches.

“What did you think?” Zuko asks, lifting his head. He really  _ does _ look tired.

“It was great,” Sokka tells him honestly. “You’re good at teaching.” Even though it’s clear that the other boy is way more comfortable with pokémon than people, he still finds ways to make himself understood, for their benefit if not for anyone else’s. “I learned a lot.”

He shifts his gaze to Flareon, still spread out contentedly on the table, and offers a hand for him to sniff in introduction.

“I didn’t know you had a Flareon. You’ve never used him in our battles.”

Zuko swallows and looks away.

“He doesn’t really...do well in unplanned matches,” he says finally. “Remember? Dragon-types. He freaks out and forgets which way is up and can’t keep himself, or anyone else, safe. He can barely be in the same room as Druk and Druk’s never once hurt him. So I could never throw him into a battle where I didn’t know the other person’s pokémon.”

“If you ever wanted,” Sokka offers before his brain can catch up to his mouth, “We could battle sometime. Not like an official gym match or anything! Not yet. But like...since you know my pokémon and all. Even if I  _ had _ a dragon, you know I wouldn’t...You could trust me not to use it.”

And there’s that strange, warm expression that makes Zuko’s whole face go soft, and Sokka finds that he can’t quite look him in the eyes when he looks like that. He would have an easier time staring into the sun.

When Zuko finally speaks again, his voice is quiet.

“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

That Zuko takes such good care of his pokémon and manages to have raised one with such a specific neurosis is unusual, but Sokka manages to not ask about it. He may as well have, though, because Zuko eyes his face a little and then sighs deeply.

“If...if he’d been raised by me, it wouldn’t have been an issue,” he says finally. “You could say that Flareon’s a rescue, kind of. I couldn’t just—well, he’s had a hard time of it. He deserves for the rest of his life to be easy.”

There’s something about that particular phrasing that Sokka thinks should stand out to him, but as much as he rolls it over in his brain, he can’t figure out why. He’ll worry about it later, probably at 3am when he’s laying in bed trying desperately to sleep.

Sokka’s determined not to think about it, but it never really leaves the back of his mind.

* * *

From: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [I’m dying.] _

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [U are not. Drama queen.] _

Sokka ignores the hypocrisy of this and somehow manages to not look at Katara, tucked into her bed and reading a book in her pjs and sending the occasional text message herself, when he types out and sends his message. She never needs to know about it.

Zuko sends him a sad face emoji and Sokka scowls at it, types out a response and sends it before he realizes that it’s passive aggressive and unnecessary.

To: Vulca’s Local Cryptid 

_ [If ur dying why don’t u have ur gf come take care of u?] _

Oops.

Sometimes Sokka gets left on read for days, but not when he’s been getting regular responses. He doesn’t get a text back for ten minutes.

Then, suddenly, his phone begins to ring.

He doesn’t really have an excuse to not answer, and it’s with a sinking feeling of dread that he accepts the call.

“Hello?”

“How did you know I had a girlfriend? Must have been a pretty good secret because I didn’t even know about it.”

Oh god. Oh god, oh god.

For a good ten seconds all Sokka can do is sputter wordlessly into the phone, because he was not expecting to be called out like this. He probably should have, because Zuko has yet to shy away from confrontation so far and certainly isn’t starting now.

“I...um. Uh. I thought you were...uh.” Sokka wants to swallow his own tongue.

“Oh, please continue. What kind of weird shit have you been thinking about?” Zuko sounds exasperated but also confused, or possibly concerned, like he thinks that Sokka may have hit his head on something.

“I just...IthoughtyouweredatingYue.” The words tumble out of him in a rush and he’s  _ mortified _ , and he definitely wants to die.

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Dead, stunned silence. Then finally, Zuko clears his throat, sounding strangled.

“I, uh, I don’t know where you’d have gotten something like that. I’m not dating anyone right now, and I’m definitely not dating  _ Yue _ .”

Sokka needs to stop digging the hole but the shovel’s already in his hands and covered in dirt.

“She kissed you. And—and the picture from last night.”

“Dumbass, she kissed Kuei too, as thanks for paying. And  _ Toph _ . Not that you could have seen that, if you thought for even a second that she was even remotely into me. And  _ Uncle  _ took that photo. Oh my god. What do you take me for?”

The hole gets deeper.

“A dude with eyes.”

“....Oh my god. Do  _ you _ have a thing for Yue?”

The word  _ yes _ is on the tip of Sokka’s tongue, because of course it is, but suddenly the taste is bitter and dishonest and  _ wrong _ , and he can’t even say it. He swallows, hard, against the tidal wave of horror that he’s only brought upon himself.

“No. I guess I don’t.”

For a few moments all Sokka can hear from Zuko’s end is quiet breathing. Then, “...Is there anything else I can help you with?” Zuko should sound judgemental, or annoyed, but he doesn’t. He sounds genuinely curious and definitely a little concerned.

Sokka wants to die. He wants to dig that hole just a little deeper, deep enough to crawl inside and cover himself up with dirt and never come out again, so that he can forget that this conversation ever happened. He knows he won’t be that lucky.

“No. No, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Zuko says without preamble, “Okay. I’m going to go to bed, then. You should get some sleep. You’re coming to the gym leader’s panel at the end of the day, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Goodnight.”

Zuko’s brisk and matter of fact and doesn’t give Sokka the chance to reply before he’s hanging up, conversation closed. Sokka groans and rolls over and tries to smother himself in his own pillow.

It doesn’t work.

“God, you’re embarrassing.”

“Shut up,” he replies without pulling his face out of his self-imposed sarcophagus. “I don’t wanna hear it from you.”

Katara snorts and turns back to her book and doesn’t say anything at all. She doesn’t have to.

Sokka can lie to himself all he wants, but when it comes down to it, all he can feel right now is relief.

* * *

There are more people here than Sokka’s seen in any other panel.

It makes sense, because all eight gym leaders so rarely get together in one place but there they are now, sitting quietly at one very long table, in their challenge order.

There’s Gyatso on the far left, then Yue and Fong, then Jin, Bumi, and Kuei, then Toph and Zuko and finally, Aang on the end. They’re all in their respective gym uniforms, and Sokka wonders, vaguely, if someone convinced Toph to wear shoes. The tablecloth is so long that he can’t tell.

It’s not a normal Q+A panel, because the questions have already been sorted through and chosen by lottery. It’s a good way to do it, Sokka decides. Way better than trying to sort through the inevitable sea of hands.

He’d considered submitting one and in the end, decided against it.

There are a ton of questions for Aang, as expected as the relatively new reigning champion, ranging from requests for advice to anecdotes about his travels. Sokka’s heard a lot of it already from Katara but it’s interesting in its own right to hear it from another person.

There are a few questions for Gyatso from little kids who aren’t old enough to get their license yet. The old man is the kindest, gentlest dude Sokka’s ever met, and it’s easy to see how he could have raised a kid like Aang. Zuko gets a question or two about his training regimen, and Toph gets a few about how her pokémon help with accessibility.

“Um, this question is for Gym Leader Yue,” an older lady stands up and is handed a microphone, “What’s your opinion of the shift from the traditional Elite Four challenge system to a Galar-style system of rebattling gym leaders, in order to qualify to challenge the champion?”

Yue grins widely at the question.

“I  _ love _ that you asked this, because I personally was a huge proponent of the original shift.” She folds her hands in front of her and leans in. “One of the biggest issues with the gym system in general that we as gym leaders run into is a stifled experience. Gym leaders like Zuko and Toph don’t really get a lot of this because they don’t get challenged until the end of the line so they’re allowed to be as tough as they want, but when you’re one of the first that a trainer faces, you’re not really allowed to train the way you want to, in order to keep your pokémon at a low enough level to not be overwhelming. Gyatso and I’ve talked extensively about it, and it's way more fulfilling to have a lower-leveled team for your badge matches, then another for champion challengers. It allows for more creativity on our part, while also keeping the gym challenge accessible to inexperienced trainers, as it was always meant to be.”

Yue smiles into the microphone.

“Does that answer your question?”

The woman who originally asked  _ beams  _ at her and nods vigorously, sits back down.

Kuei fields a question about starting a career in pokémon late, and Sokka has completely forgotten that he hadn’t even gotten his first pokémon until he was nearly an adult. He remembers watching a documentary on it and being fascinated, while also feeling rather validated about his own delayed start.

A young woman in practical clothes and her hair cropped short stands up next.

“This one is for Gym Leader Zuko,” she says tentatively, shifting back and forth nervously on her feet. “I was wondering if you had any advice on rehabilitating traumatized or abused pokémon. I work at a sanctuary and we get a lot of really bad cases, and it’s...it’s really hard. I just want to help them get better.”

Zuko eyes her, silent and considering, for a long time. Finally he leans forward to speak, and his voice comes out whisper quiet.

You could hear a pin drop.

“Firstly, thank you for doing what you’re doing,” he says gruffly, but gently. “It’s important. It’s really hard and it’s really important. I think the biggest thing you need to remember is that at best you’re never going to be one hundred percent successful. The ideal is, of course, to have a typically functioning pokémon at the end of the line, and that’s almost never going to happen. Trauma sticks and doesn’t ever really leave. So you have to adjust your expectations: what’s functional look like? What’s content look like? What do you need to do in order to make them feel safe again, when nothing else has been safe? Even if that means that you won’t get the traditional  _ having pokémon  _ experience.”

Sokka stares at him, wide-eyed. He remembers, very suddenly, the remarks he made about Flareon yesterday, Flareon who can’t function in the presence of dragons. He remembers a Typhlosion wearing a custom compression jacket.

“A lot of them are never going to be able to battle again, and some of the ones that could might be too dangerous to trust outside of life or death desperation. Some of them will just never be able to like or care for you, and that’s something you have to accept. Most of them will never be able to meet you where you are, and if you can’t go to them, you’re better off leaving the job to somebody else. I—“ Zuko looks very suddenly like he’s reconsidering what’s about to come out of his mouth, then barrels on nonetheless. “Anybody who’s done any research whatsoever knows about my sister.”

Zuko, now, somehow manages to find Sokka in that crowd of people and stares him down, sharp and diamond hard.

“She abused her pokémon. Pitted them against each other and against other people. A lot of people wanted to see them euthanized for it, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t let that happen. So I stepped in and took responsibility for them, to try and fix some of the damage she’d done to them.  _ None _ of them will ever battle normally again. Some of them are so anxious that they freeze up in the face of confrontation and some of them can only manage in controlled situations, and one in particular is so aggressive that he still tries to take my head off every time I try and work with him. I still don’t—I still don't know if I can save him. Every single one of them is either neurotic or codependent or debilitatingly anxious, or incapable of trust, and that is not their fault. I’ll be spending the rest of their lives doing my best to make up for what’s been done and keep them safe, even if sometimes that has to be from themselves. So I guess my advice is to make sure that you always make it about them and not—not about  _ you _ . Because it was never about you, and they will not be able to validate you.”

Zuko cuts himself off and looks, for the first time, unsure and overwhelmed in the spotlight.

It’s the most that Sokka’s heard him say at one time, ever, and he looks shocked at himself. Behind the shock, there’s horror and pain written all over his face, and Toph doesn’t hide it when she puts her hand over both of his, folded on the table and trembling minutely, and squeezes. On his other side, Aang’s grey eyes are huge and unseeing in memory, and Sokka remembers, sharply, when Katara said that Ozai’s Dragonite had dropped dead immediately after their battle.

He feels very suddenly cold.

Zuko drags in a shaky, audible breath that comes through loud and clear through the mic, and holds it.

No one moves, no one breathes.

His next breath is steady.

“I’m done. That’s all. Thank you for your question.”

The girl who had asked the question sits down and doesn’t hide that her own eyes are glistening with unshed tears. Zuko doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t look at Toph, still persistently holding onto his hands and he doesn’t look at Aang either, or at any of the rest of them.

He doesn’t even look at Sokka.

Instead he closes his eyes in a mockery of serenity, and pretends that he doesn’t exist.

No one else dares to ask him another question.

* * *

Sokka doesn’t know why he does it.

He doesn’t really have the right or the reason. They’re not that good of friends or anything, mostly just weirdo texting buddies who sometimes hang out on accident, but he can’t get Zuko’s expression of exhausted, resigned pain out of his head. It doesn’t really leave the other boy’s face until the end of the panel, and Zuko makes a beeline for...probably literally anywhere else, as soon as he can.

Sokka considered texting him and asking if he was okay, but decided that that was stupid.

Of course he’s not okay.

So he asks Toph for his hotel room number, and she gives it to him without a fight. He’s even managed to shake her up, because she doesn’t even sass him about it.

So here he is now, standing in front of a nondescript hotel room, hand raised to knock.

He hesitates, then gives himself a mental shake and raps sharply once, twice, three times on the door. For a while he thinks that he’s going to be ignored, which wouldn't be unexpected or even inappropriate. Then there’s the clattering of the chain being removed and the door opens, and Sokka finds himself face to face with Iroh, who looks as tired as his nephew.

He manages a smile for Sokka but it’s a sad one.

“Hi,” Sokka says, tries not to be weird about it. “I just...I didn’t want to bother you. I just wanted to—to check on him.”

He’s not stupid. He’s not going to ask if Zuko’s okay.

Iroh says nothing but takes a step back and gestures Sokka inside. One of the beds is made neatly and the other is rumpled and currently in use. 

Zuko’s wrapped himself up entirely in blankets to the point that the only visible part of him is the ends of his hair poking out of his cocoon. Foxglove is pressed up in the curve of his body and Umbreon is a dark weight on top of him, attentive and serious. Sokka offers him a cautious hand and Foxglove an ear rub the way he knows she likes.

“Hey, man. Just, uh, you know. Wanted to see how you were doing.”

Zuko says nothing but curls up a little tighter into himself, like he’s hiding. Sokka perches himself on the edge of the bed. 

“You don’t have to say anything or whatever. I’m not going to interrogate you about it. But I wanted to tell you that I think you did a really, really good job today. The best. What you said was really important to hear, even if it was hard, and I think that that’s amazing about you. That you can do things like that, even when they hurt you.”

Sokka goes quiet and just sits for a while, silent while Uncle Iroh putters around the room and eventually takes out a magazine to flip through. He does a good job of pretending not to be a focused observer, but not good enough.

After a long time, Zuko shifts and tugs the blanket away from his face, just enough to be able to peer out.

“...Thank you,” is all that comes out of him, but it’s enough, because his focus is back in the present instead of the past, and his eyes are warm. He really does look exhausted.

“You’re welcome,” Sokka tells him firmly. “Now go to sleep, you look like shit.”

Zuko snorts loudly into the covers and unsuccessfully hides the upward tick of his lips with his hand. He closes his eyes, and Sokka slips off of the bed and leaves the room with a soft goodbye to Iroh. 

It’s a quiet and solitary walk back to his hotel room, and when he comes out of the bathroom after changing into pjs and slides into his bed, Katara’s voice brings him up short.

“How was he?” She sounds reluctant to even ask and Sokka gets it, more now than before, and she  _ still _ manages concern despite her own determination to dislike the guy. Sokka, not for the first time and not for the last, is reminded of how much he  _ loves _ his baby sister.

“He’ll be alright,” he says into the dark room. Tomorrow when they check out of here, it’s back to real life and the real world, but right here and right now, real life can wait. “He’s not alone.”

* * *


End file.
